<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Week 5: Yellow/Playful by DramioneLDWS</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832441">Week 5: Yellow/Playful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneLDWS/pseuds/DramioneLDWS'>DramioneLDWS</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:16:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,487</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneLDWS/pseuds/DramioneLDWS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Each chapter is an individual drabble written by a single participant.</p><p><b>IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT</b>: Due to the potential for heavy themes/triggering content, please pay attention to every individual drabble's trigger warnings. If you feel uncomfortable reading an entry, please notify an admin. If you are not comfortable notifying an admin, you are not obligated to read triggering content.</p><p>Please mind the tags/triggers at the top of each entry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Last Drabble Writer Standing - Round 3: Rare Pairs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Allowed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Allowed<br/>Rating: G<br/>Word Count: 500<br/>Warnings: Major Character Death (Not Described), Grieving</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlocYrrehc/pseuds/AlocYrrehc">AlocYrrehc</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The half-painted walls, the furniture not put together, the enchanted stuffed broom hovering a few inches off the floor, everything in the room was mocking her. Even the color, <em>playful daffodil</em>, was an affront.</p><p>Ginny kept up a constant stream of muttering, tears streaking down her face as she rolled stripe after stripe of the nauseatingly happy yellow across the wall. “I told you it’s Hufflepuff yellow, Harry. I. Told. You. I told you this was Hufflepuff yellow and you didn’t believe me and now our daughter is going to grow up thinking her father didn’t think she belonged in Gryffindor and <em>you won’t be here to tell her you’d be proud of her even if she ends up in Slytherin</em>. Dammit, Potter! What good it is being the Boy Who Lived when you’re the Auror Who Died and Left His Family Behind?” She’d been slowly getting louder until suddenly she was shouting, her throat raw as she screamed at the memory of her husband, haunting her in the unfinished details of the nursery.</p><p>This was how Luna found her, minutes, hours, days later: a crumpled heap of snot, with streaks of yellow marring her red pigtails.</p><p>“Where’s your broom?”  she asked, and Ginny simply stared.</p><p>“My broom?”</p><p>“I don’t keep it at home anymore, not since James fell off last summer.”</p><p>“Ok then. I brought my aunt Mary’s broom, you can use it” she said, and handed her a Muggle vacuum.</p><p>Ginny accepted it without question, watching as Luna gracefully mounted her own broom. A cruiser that looked like it might have belonged to Luna as a child, the broom had a large, comfortable banana seat and handles sporting yellow and white streamers.</p><p>The two women kicked off, and Ginny followed Luna without question, her mind finally free to wander as she soared through the air. The wind on her skin, even at the lazy pace Luna set, was a balm on her frayed nerves, her heart racing from the exertion rather than anger or grief. They set down in a field of evening primrose before an intentionally broken pillar, a monument to Pandora, a life unfinished.</p><p>Ginny watched, feeling like an intruder, as Luna weaved a crown of flowers to place at the base of the pillar, leaning her head against the stone for several silent minutes before sitting in the shadow it cast. Luna indicated for Ginny to sit beside her, and Luna stroked Ginny’s hair, which had long fallen loose.</p><p>“My favorite thing about Harry was watching him play Quidditch with the boys. He was infinitely patient with them. I think he would have been a great flying instructor.”</p><p>Ginny sobbed, a great heaving bark of a sound. “He’d still be here if he had been.”</p><p>“Maybe. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re allowed to play and to laugh and to love, Ginny. I just want you to know.”</p><p>The two women sat in silence, contentedly alone with their own grief.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Another Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Another Life<br/>Rating: T<br/>Word Count: 498<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/anne_ammons/pseuds/anne_ammons">anne_ammons</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Girls, why don’t you run outside and play?”</p><p>Ginny and Luna wasted no time dashing out the door and down to the stream. Since Ginny was the only girl in her family, she looked forward to these playdates with Luna. Not that they did particularly girly things, but it was nice to not get picked on or made fun of or be the brunt of her brothers’ jokes. </p><p>The rule was they had to stay outside until one of their mothers called them in, but neither minded. There was always something new to discover or explore in the garden or the fields around the Burrow and, most importantly, there were no boys, as Ginny’s mum insisted that her father bundle everyone off, so the ladies in the family could host Mrs. Lovegood and Luna for tea. </p><p>Her mother called it their “special time.” Once a month, after her father and the boys had left, her mother would hang up her apron and let her hair down. She’d even put on a spritz of perfume, and spray a little on Ginny, too. </p><p>“Sometimes grown women need the company of other grown women, Ginny.” She watched as her mother carefully applied lipstick to her lips. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”</p><p>When Luna and Mrs. Lovegood arrived, her mother would kiss the other woman lightly on each cheek and clasp her hand, as if it hadn’t been just days since they had last seen each other. After all, the two girls played together often, but there were always others around, which is why this time was just for the ladies.</p><p>After Ginny and Luna ate their treats and began to fidget, bored with the gossip of adults, they would be released to run and play, leaving their mothers to talk about and do whatever things it was that grown women did. </p><p>Ginny and Luna were sure it was boring. After all, there was the time that Ginny got stung by a bee and ran back in the house to find her mother and Mrs. Lovegood lying together on the sofa, with their dresses ridden up. </p><p>Her mother had sat up, her face flushed. She’d straightened her dress and explained that the two of them had gotten tired and decided to take a nap. Then she healed Ginny’s sting and sent her on her way. </p><p>When it was nearly time for the others to return home, one of their mothers would call the girls in to say their goodbyes. In those moments, it seemed almost as difficult for the women to part as the girls. They’d linger in each other’s embrace, whispering between them. </p><p>Then, Ginny would then watch as her mother pinned up her hair once more, and donned her apron before starting on supper.</p><p>Her father would return with the boys in tow, bending down to kiss his wife.</p><p>“Have a nice tea, Mollywobbles?”</p><p>Her mother invariably answered with a sigh, “Oh, Arthur, some things just have to be endured.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Cottagecore Girlfriend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Cottagecore Girlfriend<br/>Rating: G<br/>Word Count: 500<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/granger_danger/pseuds/granger_danger">granger_danger</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>The sun filtering through the closed yellow café curtains caught gold on Luna’s hair.</p><p>Ginny tore her gaze away and turned to the creamer and sugar station, stifling a yawn.</p><p>Opening always sucked, but with Luna it was honestly pretty chill. Nice, even.</p><p>They had a system. Ginny prepped and stocked for the morning rush while Luna took down all of the chairs from the two-tops. They alternated who chose the music, shift by shift.</p><p>It was Luna’s turn today. Ethereal acoustic psych-folk wafted through the coffee shop, aiding the morning light’s attempts to drench everything in warm honey. Ginny focused on the soy milk and willfully not on Luna frolicking across the hardwood floor with various furnishings.</p><p>Having a crush on your roommate, co-worker, and friend since junior high was… ill-advised at best. Most days Ginny was able to blink back her undeniable Feelings for Luna, growing soft and mossy in a hidden thicket of her heart, but today she’d overslept. She’d stumbled to the café unshowered, uncaffeinated, and wholly ungirded for the hazy daydream that was opening with Luna on a summer morning.</p><p>Ginny began filling the pastry case. She laid out the fresh croissants and savory mini-quiches from Hannah’s bakery down the street. Then she glanced up again.  </p><p>Luna never rushed; she moved with the languid fluency of performance art, but she always managed, vexingly, to set up faster than Ginny could. Today, Luna wore a multi-colored sundress, kaleidoscopic, over canary yellow go-go boots. She caught Ginny’s eye and did a playful pirouette, laughing, then lifted the last chair and gave it a gentle twirl before setting it in its place.</p><p>Her messy fishtail braid swung below her waist, and she’d tucked a sunflower into it. A pair of polymer clay French radishes hung from her ears.</p><p>She sold them on Etsy.  </p><p>Luna floated over to Ginny with her trademark dreamy smile, extending her hand. “Dance?”</p><p>Ginny checked the time. In three minutes, their regulars would arrive. Professor Lupin from the Law School, with his deeply inadvisable quad-shot Americano. Neville, most days, grabbing a matcha latte on his way to lead the youth program at the community garden. Terrible Dolores, who required her triple-shot cappuccinos extra dry, scalding hot, and foamy, in a bowl-sized pink mug, and usually sent them back.</p><p>Ginny still hadn’t made her survival latte.</p><p>But Luna was beaming at her, sweet and silly. The music had shifted to Portishead, but Ginny grabbed Luna’s hand and waltzed her fast, intentionally off-rhythm, until they were both laughing so hard they were gasping for breath. She giggled into Luna’s neck and let herself inhale her, patchouli and sandalwood and flowers. Let herself envision yellow curtains in a cottage instead, and silky blonde hair on a pillow. Tofu scrambles, lavender lemonade, basil from the garden.</p><p>Luna wanted goats. Ginny could handle goats, probably.</p><p>They stayed there, swaying, for one beautiful, expectant moment, until their reverie was broken by a “Hem-hem!” and a sharp rapping on the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Forced Disclosure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Forced Disclosure<br/>Rating: T<br/>Word Count: 500<br/>Warnings: References to/fear of homophobia</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight">ravenslight</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ms Weasley, do you have any comments on the nature of your relationship with Luna Lovegood?”</p><p>Shouts and camera clicking follows her when she rips open a shop door and slams it shut, back colliding against it as her chest heaves.</p><p>She can hear their questions through the glass, but a wave of her wand temporarily bars their entrance.</p><p>Several patrons blink up at her, pastries paused at various points in trajectory between their plates and mouths. Luna emerges from behind a swinging door, a bag of piping gel hanging from one hand, a half-decorated demiguise-shaped scone abandoned in the other.</p><p>“Ginny?”</p><p>They were supposed to have more <i>time</i>.</p><p>Time to figure this out, to prepare public statements, time to navigate a relationship in a world steeped in prejudice.  </p><p>“They know,” Ginny whispers, trembling fingers pressing to her mouth to contain the sob working its way up her throat as she approaches the counter. </p><p>Raw vulnerability aches in this moment, in this decortication of the façades they’ve so carefully crafted. A current of anger runs through her that they’ll be outed before they’re ready.</p><p>Understanding lights Luna’s eyes, and she darts back through the swinging door, emerging seconds later with a fresh fairy cake. “Sometimes sugar helps.”</p><p>The pastry is still warm, xanthic frosting oozing over its edges as she bites into it.</p><p>An appreciative sigh escapes Ginny, and for just a moment, she forgets what chased her here. </p><p>Luna’s eyes are soft, wrinkles creasing the delicate skin framing them.</p><p>“You’ve got frosting—” Luna gestures, leaning over the countertop. Her fingers brush across the bow of Ginny’s lips, and Ginny leans into the touch, pressing her lips into Luna’s palm.</p><p>“Oh.” Luna tips her head to the side, sad eyes flickering to the customers. “It’s okay, Ginny. We can explain it—” </p><p>But the truth is already out, and Ginny is tired, <i>so tired</i>, of the careful demarcation of who she wants to be and who the public thinks she should be. And she’s not ashamed—not of Luna or their relationship. It’s the complete violation of their privacy that elicits her angry scoff. </p><p>A shaky breath. “I—I don’t want to hide this anymore—hide us. And I know it wasn’t how we wanted to tell everyone, but—”</p><p>She cradles the contour of Luna’s jaw in her hand, and Luna’s gasp in the silence—<i>gods</i>, the impossibly tender silence—is nearly Ginny’s undoing. She leans in, crushing a spun sugar bowtruckle as she captures Luna’s lips.</p><p>It’s a gentle acknowledgement, acceptance of whatever might come, and Ginny falls into it headlong, warmth blossoming in her veins.</p><p>When they part, Luna’s lips quirk in a dazed smile. “I think you let the Wrackspurts in.” </p><p>There’s sunlight in her hair, illuminating her profile with goldenrod whorls, when Ginny pulls her into another searing kiss that neither of them breaks.</p><p>Not when Ginny knocks over a stand of pastries climbing over the counter.</p><p>Not when the patrons begin to clap.</p><p>Not even when reporters flood in, flashbulbs bright.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Funfair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Funfair<br/>Rating: G<br/>Word Count: 497<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyMurphy/pseuds/ScullyMurphy">ScullyMurphy</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Luna, over here!”</p><p>I pivot, listening for where Ginny’s voice is coming from. I last saw her near the small building that’s shaped like a giant candy floss, but she slipped through the crowd when I was distracted by a sea of what look like whirling teacups and saucers. </p><p>“<i>Luna</i>!” </p><p>Ah. There. Under a red and white striped awning, waving madly, glorious energy radiating out in buttercup waves. I’m pulled inevitably in. </p><p>She grabs me as I approach and I let her. Of course I do. </p><p>“All you have to do is get this little ball into a bowl and you win a FISH, Luna! Imagine!” Her eyes such a clear blue that I see all my childhood skies, fathomless from where I lay in green grass and yellow sunlight, dandelion fluff floating around my face. </p><p>Her smile turns expectant and I can tell I’ve wandered again.</p><p>“A <i>fish</i>, Ginny! That’s amazing. Imagine bringing home a pet!” I squint at the glass bowls. “The one third from the left in the second row.” I nod. “He has a lovely aura. Try to get him.” </p><p>“Blow on it for luck.” She holds out the small white ball, a wicked little grin tilting her mouth. </p><p>I take her hand, hold her gaze, and blow—long and soft. </p><p>Her lips part. The bright lights and sound around us blur and dim. I feel her breath draw in like it’s my own. </p><p>Then time speeds up again and she turns on a wave of fiery silk, giving me a mischievous wink as she flicks her wrist. The ball doesn’t even bounce like all the others, it just plops obediently into the exact bowl I selected. </p><p>“Did you use magic?” I whisper as we walk away, tucked against each other, giggling madly. “Hermione said we weren’t to, remember? We’re supposed to be having a muggle night.” </p><p>Ginny traps her lip under her small white teeth. Her eyes flash. “What would you say if I said no?” </p><p>“I’d say you’re a liar!” I call, pressing closer, careful not to disturb our new friend in his watery pouch. </p><p>She just laughs, the sound a wild, free thing.</p><p>We near the teacups again—spinning deliriously. She watches them and I watch her. She turns to me, her face alight. “Do you want to try it?” </p><p>“Mmm.” I reach out and brush her fingers with mine. “I had another idea.” </p><p>I pull us toward a quieter scene; swan boats floating serenely through an arch, music swelling from a dark grotto. </p><p>“Two, well <i>three</i>, please,” I say, and Ginny laughs again. The man takes our tickets and points us to a boat. It’s a little damp, but we settle in: her head on my shoulder, our fish on her lap. We lurch forward and there’s a scent of brackish water, then a feeling of floating free.</p><p>“‘The Tunnel of Love’,” she reads as we pass beneath the arch, voice dreamy. </p><p>I touch my lips to her temple and smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Left Hand Yellow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Left Hand Yellow<br/>Rating: T<br/>Word Count: 472<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_stone/pseuds/persephone_stone">persephone_stone</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“Right hand red!”</p><p>Ginny groans quietly as Hermione calls out the move. Not because she can’t reach the red dot on the plastic game mat—she absolutely <em>can,</em> thanks to the daily warm-up stretches she does with the Harpies—but because doing so puts her in close proximity to the papaya-vanilla scent of Luna Lovegood’s intricate braid. </p><p>Luna’s hair reminds her of corn silk: an analogy Ginny’s sure Luna would appreciate if she were brave enough to share it with her. But Ginny’s determined not to let her stubborn attraction to her best friend distract her from winning this stupid game, so she merely concentrates harder on twisting her body into a myriad of unnatural positions without falling over.</p><p>Harry and Hermione’s tendency to champion lost causes hasn’t faded in the years since the war. Ginny’s fierce loyalty to her friends hasn’t either, so she dutifully turns up to Grimmauld Place every Friday night, playing all sorts of nonsensical muggle games with Harry’s pointy-faced Auror partner, his doe-eyed <em>partner</em> partner, and a rotating miscellany of their former classmates. </p><p>Which is how she’s ended up in this particular mess.</p><p>Desperate to keep her eyes from returning to Luna, she turns to watch tonight’s other two players. She hears Harry smother a laugh as Theo pushes his arse high into the air, bringing it perilously close to Draco’s scowling face. The next move<em>—right foot blue—</em>eliminates them both.</p><p>Hermione calls out another command<em>—left foot green—</em>and Ginny arches her back, swinging her left foot underneath her opposite leg to land solidly on the nearest available green dot. Once she feels steady, she glances up. Luna is gazing calmly back at her, albeit upside down and backwards through her legs. </p><p>Ginny’s cheeks flush, and she quickly drops her eyes.</p><p>She takes a deep breath, summoning all the focus and obstinacy she’s learned from playing professional quidditch—to say nothing of growing up with six brothers—and listens for Hermione’s next instruction.</p><p>“Left hand yellow!”</p><p>Her eyebrows draw together as she plans her move. She shifts her weight, twists her body, and stretches her right hand all the way over to the yellow dot.</p><p>She barely has time to exhale before Luna’s hand lands firmly on top of hers. Her fingers slip between Ginny’s own, squeezing gently. When Ginny looks up and sees the triumphant expression on Luna’s face, she realizes she’s not the only one who’s been planning a move.</p><p>“We’re both quite good at this game, aren’t we?” Luna’s voice is soft; only for Ginny’s ears. “I must confess though—I’m quite tired of playing games with you.” She tilts her head forward, bringing her lips within a hair’s breadth of Ginny’s.</p><p>Ginny’s arms tremble. She couldn’t move if she wanted to.</p><p>“Both flexible, too,” Luna whispers, like it’s something that’s just occurred to her.</p><p>Ginny falls flat on her face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Noughts and Crosses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Noughts and Crosses<br/>Rating: T<br/>Word Count: 496<br/>Warnings: N/A<br/>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHarperMaxwell/pseuds/RoseHarperMaxwell">RoseHarperMaxwell</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>"Eat,</i> you stupid fish. This is literally all you do."</p><p>Buttercup, a striking yellow betta, was thriving when Neville left him. He swam lazy laps of his tank, fins fluttering regally as he surveyed his kingdom. But after three days in Ginny's care, he was nose-down in a corner: a lethargic and defiant hunger striker.</p><p>Neville should have known better. If Ginny couldn't keep his plants alive, entrusting her with something more sentient was ill-advised.</p><p>Luna came over promptly when called. Concern pinched her features as she examined the listless fish. She stroked the outside of the tank in front of Buttercup's face until he gave a half-hearted shimmy. "You've been playing with him every day, haven't you?"  </p><p>Ginny counted to five, swallowing the impulsive <i>How the fuck would I play with a fish?</i> that danced on the tip of her tongue. "I'm not— No. I haven't played with him at all."</p><p>"Hmm. Buttercup seems...under-stimulated." Luna seemed to choose her own words just as carefully. "He's very intelligent, you know."</p><p>She traced a grid on the front of the tank with her wand, tapping the center space so an X appeared.</p><p>Buttercup perked. He ventured out of his corner, swimming about the front of the tank until he finally nosed against the glass in the upper right space.</p><p>Luna smiled, tapping the spot and creating an O.</p><p>Ginny blinked, sure it was a coincidence. But when Luna took the middle right, Buttercup selected the upper left. Luna finished the row across the middle.</p><p>"I'm surprised you didn't let him win." Ginny bit her lip, amused despite herself.  </p><p>Luna looked slightly taken aback. "I would never insult him. They're very proud fish."</p><p>"Of course." Ginny nodded as if that made any sort of sense. "Can you try getting him to eat?"</p><p>Buttercup surfaced as though Ginny had been starving him, daintily accepting dried bloodworms from Luna's fingertips. Appetite sated, he frolicked about the tank, pausing to flick a golden fin and a glare—she would <i>swear</i> it—in Ginny's direction.</p><p>"There," Luna said placidly. "Three games a day should do the trick. He'll be back on his regular meals soon enough."</p><p>Ginny stared at her. "I have practice all day. You want me to come home for lunch to play Noughts and Crosses with a betta fish?"</p><p>"You might have considered your busy schedule before agreeing to care for another living being." It would have been cutting from anyone else. From Luna, with a delicate raise of her brows, it was a gentle reproach.</p><p>Ginny had never been more certain she didn't want children. "I'm not very good at Noughts and Crosses. He might think I'm letting him win."</p><p>"Oh, that won't do." Luna tucked her wand behind her ear. "I suppose I could help take care of him. We do enjoy each other's company."</p><p>Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Fit or not, Nev could go straight to Luna the next time he needed a fish-sitter.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Of Mist and Moonbows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Of Mist and Moonbows<br/>Rating: T<br/>Word Count: 500<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/pseuds/bionically">bionically</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>It was a night much like tonight that they first met, with the bright full moon low in the sky, spilling silvery light across the valley where the cascading river dashed over the rocks. </p><p>She'd run out of the house without a hat or umbrella, purposefully deaf to the strident cries following her: <i>Ginevra Weasley, get back here this instant!</i></p><p>Fading echoes of her brothers' voices. <i>Oh, let her be, Mum. She'll get over it. She always does.</i></p><p>And the phrase she hated the most: <i>She's just upset because she's too little.</i></p><p>Ginny rested her sodden head on her folded arms, numb to the damp earth soaking through her skirts. It was just <i>hard</i> seeing one after another of her brothers wielding a wand, becoming one with magic, and feeling as though her time would never come. What good was magic when you could never experience it for yourself?</p><p>“Have you come for the moonbow faeries?”</p><p>One moment no one was there; the next someone was talking in a lilting, melodious voice. Not a faerie, but a small girl spun from a moonbeam herself, wearing a wreath of flowers on her pale hair—</p><p>No, not flowers, <i>garlic bulbs. </i></p><p>Ginny looked hard in the same direction as that elfin face, at the arc of colours hanging low in the sky, shining through the faint mist. She didn’t see anything. “I've never heard of them.” She was almost ashamed to admit her ignorance.</p><p>The girl looked no older than Ginny herself. “They only come out during lunar rainbows, such as the one tonight.” Her eyes were as bright as the moon itself. “I'm Luna. Come on, I'll show you.”</p><p>Ginny wiped her eyes, slowly rising. </p><p>Perhaps magic didn’t only come from a wand.</p>
<hr/><p>Fat drops of rain pelt the hard grey granite of the gravestone, blurring the engraved letters in a wavery wash before sliding down to sink into the grass. </p><p>Ginny closes her eyes and lets the steady drizzle mix with her tears. Whispers float and curl around her as she stares at her reflection in the muddy puddle.</p><p>"...Let her be…"</p><p>"But the rain—she'll catch her death of cold—"</p><p>"A new widow deserves time alone to grieve…"</p><p>She stands in place long after the showers taper off and the crowd melts away, waiting for the full moon to peer out from behind its cloudy cover.</p><p>When Ginny opens her eyes, the moonbow is there to greet her, as she knew it would; its colours so pearly as to be nearly white.</p><p>For the first time in a month, her brow smooths and the creases around her eyes fade away.</p><p>
  <i>I'll send you my moonbow to guide you.</i>
</p><p>A faint flicker of gold and ivory dances at the edge of her vision; a low, lilting laugh echoes through the valley.</p><p>
  <i>Just follow the faeries, my love.</i>
</p><p>Ginny smiles and inhales deeply, the wetness of grief drying from her eyes. </p><p>With Luna, magic has never belonged solely in a wand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Sun Colours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Sun Colours<br/>Rating: G<br/>Word Count: 500<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneDreaming/pseuds/DramioneDreaming">DramioneDreaming</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thought that Ginny had was that she was wearing yellow.</p><p>Of course, she was. Luna always wore yellow to weddings. Ginny had asked her why, once and had been given the story of her father’s belief that wearing sun colours to a wedding brought the new couple good luck.</p><p>That was what had first made Ginny look twice at her unusual Ravenclaw year-mate. Spinning in unsteady circles, all alone in the centre of the dance floor at Bill’s wedding with her eyes closed and a serene smile on her pink lips, she had looked like joy personified.</p><p>Years later, at Percy’s wedding, Ginny had clasped hands with Luna as they span together on a dancefloor filled with conservative wizards in grey and prim and proper witches who had turned their noses up when Luna had walked into the marquee in a shade of chartreuse that was truly eye watering. The unflappable self-confidence and aura of utter contentment that was uniquely Luna had called to her in a way that nothing else ever had and she just wanted to be close enough to bask in it for a while.</p><p>The guests at George and Angelina’s wedding had been a much livelier and more colourful bunch, but still Ginny’s eyes were instantly drawn to the petite woman with a crown of buttercups woven into her hair and short lemon dress robes that puffed out so far that it was difficult to get close enough for a hug. After hours of laughing, uncoordinated dancing and a fair amount of elf-made wine, Ginny had finally gathered enough confidence to kiss Luna goodnight in a decidedly non-platonic manner.</p><p>By the time that Ron’s wedding rolled around, Luna was no longer attending as a neighbour or family friend but as a delighted Ginny’s plus one. As a bridesmaid, Ginny had been unable to coordinate with her girlfriend's chosen shade of buttery yellow but had adorned her fiery red hair with the same delicate assortment of yellow primrose and zinnia that were woven into Luna’s dirty blonde locks.</p><p>Now, as Ginny entered the Marquee that had been set up in the Burrow’s garden for the fifth time, on the arm of her teary-eyed Father, she thought that this shade of yellow was her favourite yet. The soft, muted banana yellow that flowed out from an overly embellished bodice in clouds of tulle, and the scattering of yellow live butterflies that crowned her braided hair only made her bride look more ethereal and beautiful than ever. As Luna turned her head and met Ginny’s eyes, she felt that she could have wandlessly conjured a Patronus on the spot. </p><p>Luna’s smile shone brighter than the sunshine yellow silk of Ginny’s own gown and she knew that neither had chosen the colour to bring luck to their marriage. Luck was fleeting and fragile, and their love for each other was anything but. Neither needed luck when they had already found everything they could ever want in the other.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Sunshine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: Sunshine<br/>Rating: G<br/>Word Count: 499<br/>Warnings: Mentions of Death</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimifreed/pseuds/Mimifreed">Mimifreed</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny’s eyes burned from the golden rays reflected off the pond. She swiped furiously at the puffy skin and sniffled as the tall grass tickled her elbows. She could hear the commotion going on at The Burrow—so many people had come to give their condolences.</p><p>She felt suffocated by well wishes and sympathy cards.</p><p>She wanted nothing more than to go flying and clear her head of some of the grief that had made her brain go fuzzy. But, the thought of getting on her broom—<i>Fred’s broom</i>—made her stomach knot. Instead, she picked up Arnold, her Pygmy Puff, and ran until her legs could carry her no more. Until the pounding in her chest deafened her with blood-rushed ears and brought her to this place on the ground.</p><p>“He’s quite cute.”</p><p>Ginny craned her neck to look behind her at the sound of Luna’s voice floating through the air. She gave a half hearted smile. “Yeah. Bit dramatic though.”</p><p>Arnold chirped loudly in protest and fell over, twitching.</p><p>Luna’s laugh was far more exuberant than the situation called for, and Ginny couldn’t help but smile along with her. Luna adjusted the satchel on her hip and sat next to Ginny, their shoulders touching. They sat in silence as Arnold moved around on the ground, chasing after beetles and frolicking through the grass.</p><p>“I have one too,” Luna said.</p><p>“Do you?”</p><p>Luna nodded and opened the flap on the satchel, pulling out a fluffy, yellow ball. “I tried a spell to turn him blue.”</p><p>“Doesn’t look like it worked,” Ginny said, flatly.</p><p>“No, but I think this is better.”</p><p>Luna set the yellow puff next to Arnold and they watched as the two began to chase one another around, bumping into each other and chirping happily. As they sat, Ginny felt her throat constrict again as the weight of the day became heavy and she took a deep, shaking breath.</p><p>“When mum died, dad said that the days would be sunny again, eventually.” Luna whispered. </p><p>Ginny’s vision clouded as she blinked, hot tears burning in her eyes. “Were they?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Luna said. “It’s still stormy, sometimes. But, I think the sun comes out more often than it’s hidden.”</p><p>Ginny looked away from Luna’s thoughtful expression and stared up to the sky. The sun shone above—blinding beams of bright light streaked through wispy clouds against the veil of light blue. As the grass rustled around them, she heard a laugh echo across the field, carried to her in a whisper on the breeze.</p><p>A distinct laugh, that cracked in the middle and turned to a wheeze on the end. <i>George’s laugh.</i> </p><p>She swallowed the thickness in her throat and turned to look at Luna. “I think there’s finally sun today.”</p><p>Luna smiled, her head tilted to the side. “Yes, I had that impression as well.”</p><p>As George’s laughter rang through the fields again, Ginny laid her head on Luna’s shoulder and watched the pygmy puffs play. Finally, she could breathe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Little Yellow Cottage on the Long Dirt Road</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: The Little Yellow Cottage on the Long Dirt Road<br/>Rating: T<br/>Word Count: 500<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumpologist/pseuds/frumpologist">Frumpologist</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tabloids said they were running. Running far from the war and the demons they left behind.</p><p>Luna said they were burning off adrenaline. A need to do <i>something</i>. Something that didn’t require defensive spells or protective magic. Something just for them.</p><p>Whilst Ginny found her place amongst the Harpies, Luna traveled the world. There were no demons chasing; they were simply running to each other. Any chance they could get.</p><p>It was there, in the little yellow cottage on the long dirt road, time stopped.</p><p>There was peace.</p><p>There was laughter.</p><p>There was love.</p><p>At night, the butter yellow sheets twisted around their bodies. In the afternoon, on the creaky front porch swing, Luna rested her head in Ginny’s lap. They lived off dandelion wine and vegetation from the land. They’d read, laugh, kiss, and dance.</p><p>And, each time they met, they’d promise one day it would be their home. Forever.</p><p>“I think it’s time to retire.” Ginny’s fingers threaded through the long blonde curls on her lap. “One World Cup is enough, don’t you think?”</p><p>Luna hummed quietly. Her big blue eyes opened to find Ginny staring down at her with a smile. “It’s certainly more than none, but is it enough for you?”</p><p>Though Ginny didn’t answer, the world around them filled the silence. The music of the night—a gentle breeze, chirping insects, and the creak of their swing—permeated the moonless night.</p><p>“The only thing I’ve left to discover is the crumple-horned snorkack,” Luna said, eyes fluttering closed as Ginny’s nails caressed patterns against her scalp. She paused, drawing a soft breath of hesitation. “It’s possible my dad lied about it. What will I have given up for nothing?”</p><p>Ginny’s voice was infused with a soft melody as her palm slid against Luna’s cheek. “He may have lied, but will you ever settle for not having proof either way?”</p><p>Luna didn’t answer. Instead, she drew Ginny’s hand into hers and laced their fingers together.</p><p>The little yellow cottage on the long dirt road stood empty the next morning and the six months that followed. Every visit after, they’d talk of retirement and giving up the hunt, but each time they’d say goodbye once more.</p><p>There were letters, Floo calls, and the occasional lunch. They’d find fleeting moments to sneak away at weddings and remembrance galas. But those hours paled in comparison to their perennial weekends in the little yellow cottage on the long dirt road.</p><p>“I’ve searched high and low for something extraordinary,” Luna whispered on the daffodil-scented breeze one evening on the porch swing. “And I’ve found that in you—in us—Ginevra.”</p><p>Later, their fingers tangled under the sheets as Ginny cuddled in close. “I wanted an adventure,” she said quietly into Luna’s mussed hair. “I found that in you—in us.”</p><p>Theirs was a simple kind of love. Enduring. The kind that traveled over mountains and through seas. Love that could stop time when they came back to the little yellow cottage on the long dirt road.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Seeker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title: The Seeker<br/>Rating: G<br/>Word Count: 500<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331">Misdemeanor1331</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“Your wife is missing.” Harry dropped a note onto Ginny’s desk and began to pace. “We’re assembling a team. When did you last see her?” </p><p>Ginny pulled the note forward, skimmed it, and smiled. “Harry.” </p><p>“We don’t have long. The first twenty-four hours are—”</p><p>“<i>Harry</i>.” Ginny took him by the shoulders. “Luna’s not missing.” </p><p>He blinked. “She’s not?” </p><p>“No. But cover for me, will you? I’m skiving off today.” </p><p>“Where are you going?” </p><p>She looked at the four handwritten lines, unpunctuated and utterly nonsensical. “I’m not sure.” </p><p>But she knew how to find out.</p>
<hr/><p><i>Shugborough’s Secrets</i> lay flat on their kitchen table, the book opened to a dog-eared page that had been annotated into illegibility. </p><p>Luna’s obsession had started a week after Xenophilius’ death. She became convinced that her father had broken the mysterious Shugborough inscription, discovered the location of the Holy Grail, and posthumously published the book as a red herring for other seekers. </p><p>But a hoax for others meant a game for Luna, a final bequest from her beloved father. She’d set her grief aside and thrown herself into the puzzle, sifting through breadcrumbs and following false trails, categorizing cryptic clues that only someone who’d known Xenophilius’ mind could intuit. </p><p>For nearly one year, Luna’s diligence had yielded nothing.</p><p>But today, lined up precisely with ancient inscription, was the cipher’s key. </p><p>
  <i>She’d solved it.</i>
</p><p>Ginny’s heart raced as she decoded her own note, her brow furrowing as she re-read it. There was a cadence to the message, a rhythm reminiscent of Luna’s homemade charms. On a hunch, she drew her wand and spoke them aloud.</p><p>“Clay hill, stone tower, Arthur’s rest, golden flower.” </p><p>A yellow calla lily appeared beside her. Ginny smiled, took the flower, and braced under the Portkey’s familiar tug. </p><p>She landed in a sparse wood at the bottom of an oblong, terraced hill topped with a stone tower. Ginny’s breath caught. She knew this place: Glastonbury Tor in Somerset, believed by some to be Avalon—the final resting place of both King Arthur and the Holy Grail. </p><p>Luna waited for her in the sunshine at the hill’s zenith. Ginny slipped an arm around her waist. For a few minutes, they simply stood, comfortable in the quiet. </p><p>“Did you find it?” Ginny asked. </p><p>“There’s a theory amongst veteran seekers,” Luna said after a moment’s thought. “They start to wonder if the Holy Grail ever existed at all. If their search wasn’t for an ancient cup, but for something lost inside themselves.” </p><p>“What do you believe?” </p><p>Luna smiled. “My father taught me there’s rarely just <i>one</i> answer.” Tears welled in her eyes. “He sought the <i>truth</i>. About the Grail, about himself, about…” She looked at the tourists milling around them, then up at the tower. “About <i>everything</i>. In the end, I think he found it.”  </p><p>“And what about you, Luna? What do you seek?” </p><p>“The Grail,” she answered. “And closure.” </p><p>“Have you found them?” </p><p>“Yes.” Luna rested her head on Ginny’s shoulder. “I think I’ve found both.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. There Were Frogs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Title:  There Were Frogs<br/>Rating:  G<br/>Word Count:  500<br/>Warnings: N/A</p><p>AUTHOR: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seakays/pseuds/Seakays">Seakays</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There are frogs, Ms. Lovegood, Ms. Weasley!  Hundreds of ghastly yellow frogs prancing all over Pickleton Primary. Students screaming, house elves barely holding back their horror as they plopped into their morning porridge.  Poor Podrick our groundskeeper, run ragged trying to capture the slippery little blighters.”</p><p>Headmistress Parsley Pippin pinched the bridge of her nose, sighed deeply, and continued.  “The worst part is Eloise refuses to disclose just how many she actually released. I trust the two of you will be able to talk some sense into your child.”</p><p>“Not yellow.” </p><p>All three adults turned to look at the tiny, defiant six-year-old who had just entered the office. </p><p>“Eloise Roberta Weasley-Lovegood, you watch your tone, young lady.”  Ginny Weasley scowled at her youngest daughter.  Turning to her wife, she continued. “Lune, you deal with this one.  I swear I am sending her to Mum if this behaviour continues.  Perhaps a few weeks of degnoming the garden or harvesting the prickly plumpkin pears will make her toe the line.”</p><p>As Eloise began to defend herself, three yellow blurs hopped across Mrs. Pippin’s desk, knocked over a particularly luxurious brand of indigo ink, a cup of perfectly brewed camomile tea, and a lovely pearl toned quill. </p><p>Between the screaming (Mrs. Pippin), the shouting (Ginny), and the crying (Eloise), no one noticed Luna gently gathering the runaway amphibians into a conjured aquarium, quietly cooing to them in some language that seemed to consist of nothing more than slight churrs, and throaty exhales.</p><p>“Eloise is correct, Mrs. Pippin.  These are most definitely not <i>yellow</i> frogs.  They are perfectly <i>golden</i>.  Specifically, Golden Panamanian Tree Frogs.   Their saliva is especially valuable for blocked pores and fighting off puffskeins.  Come Eloise, let’s find the rest of their brothers and sisters.  Although with this many, I am sure that there are some cousins too.  Gin, many hands make light work.”</p><p>
  <i>3 hours later</i>
</p><p>Glass of Chardonnay in hand, Ginny looked down at the sleeping child in her lap.  “Luna, I swear this one is going to send me to an early grave. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d be impressed that she could conjure one hundred and seventeen frogs in one cast.”</p><p>Snuggling under the arm Ginny had slung across the back of their loveseat, Luna looked at her seriously.  “No talk of death, love.  We don’t want to tempt the gollums.” </p><p>Laughing at her beautiful wife, Ginny could hardly believe what the two of them had accomplished in two decades.  Once all the clutching of pearls had died down after their marriage had become public knowledge, they had quickly established themselves in their chosen careers.  But their most important role was that of Mum and Mumsy.  They had adopted six children in their time together, Eloise being the youngest. </p><p>Their lives had more meaning than Ginny could ever have hoped.  Full of love and laughter, robes and wands, and as she heard a faint baritone ribbet, apparently it would also include a trio of tiny yellow frogs.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>